White Raven (6 page)

Argh. Boys.

I gave a slight wave to Zoe, letting her know I was heading home. The night’s air washed over my face as my feet squished in the cold sand. If it weren’t for the huge moon tonight glowing gently, I would be walking around blindly. Its reflection cast an orb onto the vast waters. There was a peacefulness in the night here that the city lacked.

I had gone a whole ten steps when I heard footsteps behind me. Lifting my head, Zane’s looming form materialized. “Oh, here.” I started to shrug out of his hoodie, thinking that was why he had come after me.

“Keep it.” A slow grin tugged at his lips. “It looks better on you.”

Did he just compliment me?

Secretly, I was glad he didn’t want it back. Not only was it chilly, but there was something cozy about wearing a guy’s hoodie. Even if that guy was a drool-enticing ass.

He matched his strides with mine. “You shouldn’t walk home alone.”

My step faltered. He wasn’t going to start this again. Biting back a groan, I tried to reason with him. “It’s only a few beach houses down.” Being alone with Zane had to be hazardous for my health—if not, then definitely my heart.

“Still, it’s not safe at night, Princess.”

I scrunched my nose at the pretentious nickname. “You really know how to shake a girl up, don’t you? Guys like you need to come with a warning. And if you call me
Princess
again, I’ll probably unman you with my knee.”

He ran a hand through his already messy hair, but on him it looked dashing. “You are not at all like I expected.”

“I could say the same about you,” I mumbled.

He gave a soft chuckle.

We had just reached the street, and I could see the front gate of Raven Manor. It was hard to miss. A smart girl would have been cautious about walking alone with a guy she barely knew. I couldn’t explain it. There was nothing about the way he looked that should make me feel safe, but that was precisely how Zane made me feel. And that pissed me off. I wasn’t a damsel-in-distressed kind of gal. I
was
the kind of girl that took care of herself. No one was going to intimidate me or make me feel inferior.

The universe must have wanted to test my so-called self-proclaimed badassness, because just as I was feeling pretty damn good about myself, a noise clattered through the street. To me, the sound was like a cannonball, explosive and life-threatening, danger becoming a tangible thing in the air. My stomach ended up in my throat.

I jumped, bumping into Zane, and my pulse went wild.

“Hey, you okay?” He placed a hand on my wrist, steadying me.

A bolt of static vibrated up my arm, but I hardly noticed as my eyes darted over the empty road. Nothing stirred. “Yeah. I’m fine,” I said in a trance, convincing myself as much as him.

His lips twitched. “Good. I would hate to have to carry you home.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out on you. It’s just sometimes, since my mom—” My voice choked. I couldn’t finish the sentence. I never talk about her. Especially to a guy a barely knew. What was wrong with me?

Great. He was going to think I was a basket case.

Aren’t you?
Whispered a dark voice inside my head.

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.” His fingers casually stroked along the inside of my wrist. It was like the Fourth of July. Fireworks exploded inside me.

He did? I forced myself to meet his hypnotizing gaze. “Right. I guess you heard.” I had forgotten how small this island was and how fast news of this magnitude must have traveled. Obviously, he knew about my mom.

“Maybe. And even if I hadn’t, it’s not my business.”

Now we’d come to the awkward good-bye. This was far from a date, so why was I stressing? Between Zane and my overactive paranoia, my palms were sweating. “I think I can take it from here.” I placed a hand on the gate.

Zane leaned a shoulder against the brick post. “Let me give you a piece of advice. Stay on your side of the block. ’Night, Princess.”

I gaped. It was amazing that he could so easily wreck an almost palpable ending to the evening. To think I had almost forgiven him for being a dickhead.

Shaking my head, I pivoted, showing him
my
back, and walked away, but not before I got the last word, or in my case, gesture. I stuck out my hand, giving him the one-figure salute.
Eat this.

I heard him laugh. Dark. Dangerous. Desirable.

It was obvious Zane Hunter was going to be a thorn in my side. To think I thought I was going to have a boring summer. He didn’t know it, but Zane had declared combat. His dark, brooding, and fierce eyes might work on everyone else, but not me.

I glanced over my shoulder, slitting my eyes, prepared to give him a dirty look. He was gone. What the—?

There was no way he could have disappeared so fast. It was just not humanly possible. Then again, the jerkwad probably wasn’t human.

I thought about checking in on TJ, but after the strange night, I just wanted to stew alone. So instead of going through the house, I went toward the terrace that led to my bedroom stairs. I had to admit, it felt like I was sneaking in, a concept that wasn’t foreign to me, but this time, I knew my mom wouldn’t be waiting on my bed to scold me.

I wished she were.

Flipping the switch, a soft light chased away the lurking shadows. I was exhausted, more mentally than physically. My so-called detective skills sucked. I had learned nothing about my mom, nothing about Rose I didn’t already know, and the guy I’d been crushing on made my head spin. He had a dizzying presence. One minute he was showing me the door, and the next, he was securing my safety.

Guys like Zane were hazardous to my emotions. I collapsed on the bed, fully clothed, my eyes fluttering shut, and the scent of Zane following me into sleep. He was such a d-bag. A hallelujah-have-mercy, smokin’ hot d-bag.

Chapter 6

Within seconds, the dark whisper loomed over me. The nightmare was always the same. Mom and I were walking home, smiling and laughing, the wind from the lakefront teasing our identical shade of blonde hair. It wasn’t called the Windy City for nothing, but it was one of the great things about living here. Brick condos lined either side of the narrow street. In the distance, an impatient driver honked his horn. Ahh. The sweet, bustling sounds of Chicago.

In the dream, we were happy, just the way I remembered her. She laughed as we strolled down the road, a sound I will forever cherish, each carrying a plastic shopping bag filled with the delicious smells of Chinese food. She looped her arm through mine, maintaining our Friday night family tradition. Since before I was born, Mom and Dad had spent their Friday nights exploring the city’s culinary wares and Chinese was a family fav.

It was the sudden change on her face that sent the first signals of alarm. Genuine fear. She had stopped walking and was tugging on my arm, pleading with the men who came out of the shadows to let me live.

A gun.

One of them shoved it in her face. She stood ridged, shoving me behind her, our food splattering over the sidewalk. Sweet and sour sauce dribbled down the city drains, fried noodles spilling out of the container and egg rolls rolling down the street. Needles of dread stabbed my gut. No matter how hard I tried, I could never get a glimpse of their faces.

The gun went off, vibrating on the brick walls of the alley, followed by my hair-raising scream. Mom crumbled to the ground, and I fell to my knees beside her. It was at that point everything went fuzzy. But there was one moment that was crystal clear.

Blood covered my hands. Her blood. Hot. Thick. Sticky.

I bolted awake. Prickles of terror beading along my skin.

~*~*~

The recurring nightmare brought forth a memory from my childhood that I rarely allowed myself to dwell on. Ghosts. When I was little, I was convinced that I saw dead people. Bizarre didn’t come close to how seeing them made me feel. Like a freak. Curious. Scared. Uncertain. Sad. Disturbed. The list of emotions went on. I made the mistake of telling my mom. It was the one and only time she ever raised her voice at me, and the last time I ever brought it up. As I grew, those glimpses became less and less frequent until they stopped all together.

It was easier to pretend it never happened than face the reality that I saw things other people didn’t. Parker was the only one who believed me. But then again, Parker believed in aliens and Superman. He wasn’t exactly what I would call levelheaded.

I awoke restless with the smell of sizzling bacon tickling my senses. Everything was always better with bacon. And chocolate. Better yet. Chocolate-covered bacon. Yum, now I was starving.

Given the size of this house, I knew food had to be close. I narrowed down the smell to the mahogany tray on the dresser, a covered white plate on top. Sitting up, I pulled a hand through my hair, staring at the tray, willing it to magically float into my hands. When I finally gave up on my nonexistent superpowers, I padded across the room, the hardwood cool on the bottoms of my bare feet. There was a handwritten note cushioned between two prongs of what looked like a placeholder.

Thought you might like breakfast in bed, since you missed actual breakfast.

Rose.

A small smile worked its way across my lips. I uncovered the plate and sighed at the same time my stomach growled. Blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, two strips of crispy bacon, and a side of ketchup. Eggs without ketchup were a crime in my house.

I could so get accustomed to all this five-star food that wasn’t cooked my moi. Rose was going to ruin me. Spoil me so much that my life before this would be dull in comparison, and I refused to let that happen.

Staring down at the plate of my favorite foods in a battle of wills, my belly and I both agreed that my act of rebellion could start tomorrow. I carried the tray to my bed, snuggled back under the covers, and dug in.

A quiet knock sounded just as I licked the last crumb off the fork. “It’s open,” I called.

Estelle peeked around the door, hazel eyes warm and sparkling. “You’re up.” Her envious auburn hair was swept up into a stylish, messy bun. When I attempted the style, it just looked like a bird’s nest.

I set the empty tray on the nightstand. “It’s late, huh?” Not everyone was on owl-time as I was. Mornings were difficult for me. Understatement. I was downright inoperable. Parker swore I was part firefly. I only came out at night, and that was when I shined.

Estelle grinned. “Depends on who you ask. If I didn’t have to work, I’d be sleeping too.”

I stifled a yawn. “Do you like working for Rose?” I asked, curious if Rose treated her employees well.

Her shoulders lifted in a one-sided shrug. “It pays. Actually, I’m really lucky to have this job. There aren’t a lot of opportunities available on an island this small. My father is acquainted with your grandma and helped me get the job.”

I was glad she was feeling more relaxed around me.

Soft freckles dusted either side of her nose. “It’s my second summer here. I’ve been saving to get off this blasted island. Go to college somewhere exciting, like Paris.”

I could see the stars in her eyes. Estelle had big dreams. “Who doesn’t want to see Paris?”

“Your dad is an artist, right? You seem so worldly.”

“Me? This is the first time I’ve ever been outside Chicago.” But unlike Estelle, I hadn’t wanted to escape.

She sat on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked underneath her. “Well, you would never guess it. You seem so sure of yourself. There’s this cool edge to you.”

“Trust me. I’m anything but cool. I choke around hot guys. I have more bad hair days than good. And I have a slew of insecurities.” Did I ever. Apparently, I could put on a good front. I had body images like every teenage girl. Mostly, I lived in fear of be alone. Forever.

Her smile brightened. “Thank God. I was beginning to think you weren’t human. Did you have a nice day yesterday at the boardwalk?”

I kind of liked the way her mind bounced from one topic to the next. It was refreshing. “Interesting.” I shifted on the oversized bed, sitting crossed-legged. “What do you know about Zane Hunter?”

Estelle stiffened, her eyes averting to her lap. “More than I care to. We grew up together.”

“You did?” I didn’t know why I was surprised. Of course all the locals knew each other, and maybe Estelle could dish on the goods. “Was he always a prick?”

If she was offended by my unfiltered mouth, she didn’t show it. “I’m guessing you had your first run in with Death Scythe?”

“Death Scythe?” I repeated.

“He’s lethal.”

“That he is,” I mumbled.

Estelle grinned. “A lively bunch, the Hunters. A word of warning, Zane is not boyfriend material. Don’t get swept away by that face of his. You would be better off flirting with Zander, less chance of getting burned, unless you’re just looking for a wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”

I was never good at taking advice, but maybe this time I’d make an exception. I was no one’s bootie call. Then again, maybe I could learn a thing or two from the famous Zane. “What is it that makes bad boys so appealing?”

“When it pertains to Zane, it would be a shorter list to name his redeeming qualities, if any.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that feeling. Did you and he ever…?”

She made a face. “Ewe. God no. He’s not my type.”

That got me thinking. Did I have a type? Zane couldn’t possibly be
my
type, because then that would mean my type was douchbag. “And who
is
your type?” I asked.

A dreamy smile lifted the corner of her lips. “Jensen. He’s a re—” She stopped midsentence, before starting over. “He’s the complete opposite of Zane. Do you have a boyfriend back home?”

I got the feeling she was hiding something, and I vowed to get it out of her sooner or later. “Uh. No, not really.”

She pursed her lips. “You don’t sound so sure about that.”

Pulling my knees to my chest, I hugged my legs. “There is this guy, but we’ve been friends since diapers. It would be weird, you know? I’m not sure I want to cross that line.”

“Maybe distance is just what you need. It might put things into perspective.” Standing, she reached for the empty tray on the nightstand. “I should get back to work. And you should take advantage of the sun. Go down to the beach, and work on that tan, pasty.”

I laughed.

That sounded like a good idea. “I just might.”

I gazed at the rugged jag of cliffs jutting over the ocean, watching the waves swallow them. Tiny flowers fought their way through the cracks, blooming along the rough terrain, alongside small patches of wild grass. Twirling a dark gray colored pencil, I tipped back my head, deep in thought. Waves hurdled themselves against the sandy shore, slapping my feet, the deep, deep blue water going on forever.

I nibbled my lower lip, staring down at the sketchpad in my lap, a pretty girl clutching a wicked looking scythe. My favorite kind of anime, a girl who could kick major ass and wasn’t afraid to get bloody. It was always the same sleek, deadly weapon, just a different heroine. Her face never really mattered, because the weapon always stole the show.

Death’s weapon.

A psychologist would probably tell me it was ironic, my mind projecting my mother’s death, a symbolism of her horrible murder. I would probably tell that shrink to stick to his bullshit analysis, and then I would be promptly asked to never come back.

But today, the weapon made me think of Zane. It was wacky weird. What were the chances he had a nickname about my favorite anime accessory? I’ll tell you. A gazillion billion to one.

I angled my head, using the natural light to shade in the shadows on her face. As the creative juices flowed, I envisioned her with bright purple hair, something punky, the colors not yet on paper working into my imagination.

As my strokes flew over the paper, a shadow fell over my pad. I silently cursed the soul stupid enough to invade my peace and block my soon-to-be fading light. Lifting my pencil from the page, I glanced up. The silent curse became a mutter under my breath, and a body planted down in the sand beside me. Zane’s body.

“Did you come to run me out of town, or just irritate me?” I huffed.

One corner of his lips tipped as if he were secretly laughing. “Both.” He snatched the sketchpad from my lap, before I realized his intent.

“Hey,” I protested, attempting to steal it back from his grubby fingers.

He put up one of his python-sized arms as a roadblock. Ten seconds passed while his eyes scanned my drawing, exposing a piece of myself I wasn’t comfortable opening up to a jerk. Ten whole seconds. It felt like ten minutes. “This is really good.” He traced the outline of the scythe.

Huh? A Compliment?

“Hang on a minute. I think I might spontaneously combust,” I said dryly.

As Zane stretched out his legs, and the dark material of his shirt pulled taut against his chest. “Are you always this much fun?”

I thought about jabbing him with my pencil. “Do you always treat people like they have no feelings?”

“Not usually.”

I snorted. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

He handed over my sketchbook, his bright blues on mine. “That’s because you’re different.”

“Different how?”

Unruly dark hair fell over his forehead. “You being here causes a whole lot of problems for me, and I don’t like it.”

His words went right through my flesh like a cold wind. What I heard was, I don’t like
you
, and it was a blow to my womanhood. “Screw you.” I grabbed my stuff and started to push to my feet.

“Piper, wait.” He reached out, placing a hand on my arm, neither of us prepared for the static tremor of his touch. Quickly, he snatched his hand back. “That came out harsher than I intended.”

I paused, my back to him.

“Don’t leave.”

Holy cow. I never imagined that two words, said in just the way he had, could have such a powerful effect on me. They reached deep inside me. Maybe it was the accent. Yep. It had to be the accent. A few heartbeats passed, as I collected myself, before I turned to face him.

Surprise and bewilderment burrowed in his brows. “You really don’t know,” he said.

I squinted, wondering if I had set myself up for another trap. “Know what?” I asked.

Curious eyes roamed my face. “Who you are?”

Hugging the sketchpad to my chest, I asked, “And just who do you think I am?” If this was his idea of a twisted game… But his dark expression appeared so sincere.

He shook his head. “You confuse me.” Lifting his hand, he froze midair, stopping just short of stroking my face, second-guessing whether he should touch me again. He looked at me without a trace of irritation or loathing.

“Me?” I stated, feeling a rise in my blood pressure. “You’re the one who is speaking in circles. You’re the one who has been nothing but rude. And now you are telling me I confuse you. You’re joking, right?”